


Dimples and Mini-skirts

by being_whovian



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Grumpiness, Original Character(s), Sexual Content Eventually, Some Cuteness, Some Fluff, mild swearing, rated for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_whovian/pseuds/being_whovian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why on earth do I keep you all! I'd be better off with some lazy and utterly incompetent child! They seem to have more creativity and patience with hand painting than you have with a damned needle and thread!”</p><p>**ON HOLD DUE TO RE-WRITING!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: None  
> Warnings: Um it could get a bit hot in here but really it is just a warning because if I like this I will carry it on!  
> Notes: This is my first fulfilled Tumblr prompt :D it is for annexmachina! I hope this okay and I hope you don't mind me just using the fashion designer element! Prompt here: Whouffaldi AU prompt: 12 is a world renown but hugely difficult fashion designer/hairstylist, and Clara's a complete greenhorn just starting off.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any recognisable characters! Any random people you have never seen or heard of before are mine… Twelve and Clara obviously belong to the BBC and anyone else that you recognise from Doctor Who and such of the like :)

He paced his studio, phone to his ear listening to a woman on the end of the phone claiming she had an aspiring fashion designer within her class at a local University. He rubbed his forehead roughly, a frown gracing his lips as he turned on his heel and resumed his pacing. He had never really accepted University students as _apprentices_ or _prodigies_ which ever you would like to call them, because of their complete lack of experience and gusto for the job. It takes skill and a steady hand, an eye for detail and the ability to see beauty in everything one creates.

_“I understand that your student needs a place to gain experience in a real working environment but really I don't have time for lazy and incompetent University students. I take my job very seriously and so do my employees and my models. I don't have the patience for inexperienced children in my workplace.”_

_“Mr Smith please just consider her? She is more talented than you think and she is far from lazy-”_

He could hear the uncertainty in the woman's voice. It was strained and he was having none of this. He seized his pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose roughly and closed his eyes with a sigh.

_“I'm sorry but Miss Oswald should look for someone else who would be willing to take her on and have their clothing ruined and their models laughed at.”_

He hung up the phone before the woman on the other end of the phone could speak any more. He had no time as he had to get the summer line ready for the catwalk shows and the shops on the high streets. Having a University student would slow him down and by the sounds of Miss Oswald it was just an accident waiting to happen and he couldn't afford that. Like he had said, he takes his job seriously and had no time for lazy and incompetent children running around his studio and screwing up his clothing lines.

Sighing he slipped his phone into the chest pocket of his shirt, rubbing a hand over his face. He had enough on his plate when one of his employees messed up the stitching on the hems of skirts or when they bodged up the sequin pattern on the bodice of a dress that he'd designed. Even when one of his models tripped on the catwalk or stepped on the hem of a long dress he almost lost the plot. He was a perfectionist.

Sometimes it was a burden. Sometimes it was a pleasure and sometimes he couldn't decide which one he hated more.

_*_

_“Oh for goodness sakes! I am making these patterns simple for you and yet you still bugger them up!”_ he snapped, waving the ruined pleated skirt in the face of his employee Mary Lindsey. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed and he threw the ruined material on the desk before the woman who was starting to well up. _“Why on earth do I keep you all! I'd be better off with some lazy and utterly incompetent child! They seem to have more creativity and patience with hand painting than you have with a damned needle and thread!”_

His phone began to buzz in his chest pocket and he growled. He certainly wasn't in the mood for someone trying to flog a young person to him. His studio was again silent as his people worked and poor Mary gathered her wits and began to fix up her mistakes. He stormed off into the back room and looked at the number.

_“Oh really? You again?”_

He took a deep breath, before answering with a tight smile on his lips and a rather strained voice.

_“Hello again Miss Rowlett.”_

_“Mr Smith, I am sorry to bother you again. Really I know you don't obviously want Miss Oswald-”_

_“I don't want anyone...”_

_“But she is being rather unmoving.”_

He bit back a groan, closing his eyes tightly as he tilted his head back. His free hand rested on his arm, his fingers digging in through his shirt to his skin. He _didn't care_! Actually that was a little bit heartless of him because by the sounds of the girl she was a nightmare with a needle and thread and yes maybe she did need a push in the right direction... he scratched at his arm lowering his head again, his eyes still closed tightly.

_“Look I don't have time for this okay? You phoned me less than an hour ago-”_

He turned as the door opened slightly and Mary's head popped round. _**Lord give me strength...**_ he thought as he started to feel the pain in his cheeks from _smiling_ so much. She waved the skirt she'd attempted to correct and he waved her in, listening to the woman babbling away about how the kid wouldn't go somewhere else, that she looked up to him as a designer and always appeared in at least one piece of clothing created by him. He grabbed the skirt, resting the phone on his shoulder so his other hand was free.

He smoothed the fabric with his thumbs and bit back a groan. She'd fixed the patterns on the material but there were now gaps in the stitching on the hem. No stitch should be missed.

_“Miss Rowlett could you, ah give me a couple of minutes?”_

He didn't wait for the answer, slamming the phone on the desk and turning to Mary who looked like a kicked puppy. Her green eyes wide, blonde hair poking out of the once neat bun on her head and her lip trembling. _**Oh brilliant... more crying.**_

_*_

She stood waiting patiently for Mr Smith feeling rather put out. Why one of her students looked up to him she would never quite understand. Yes his eye for detail was rather on point but his attitude towards people was absolutely awful. She flinched slightly every now and then when he seemed to near the phone with his voice raised. She looked though the windows on her classroom door, spotting her ever eager student Clara Oswald. She was a lovely girl and she had all of the right ideas, but really her ability to create a good piece of presentable clothing was a lot to be desired. Of course saying that she knew what colours to wear with what and what shoes would go with her current look.

_“Sorry about that, just a little bit of a stitching problem.”_

She smiled a tight smile and ran her fingers through her dark wavy hair. It sounded a little bit more like the poor person had blown up his studio rather than a stitching problem. She laughed a little more harshly than anticipated.

_“Ah yes well we were again talking about Miss Oswald. I really am sorry but-”_

_“Oh no please do send her along... I'm sure she has more creativity and patience than this lot I have here...”_

She hadn't realised once he had cut her that she had held her breath. She bit her lip wondering if he was having her on. Playing a joke or something.

_“Really? You... you'll take her on?”_

To much uncertainty? Oh who was she kidding this was just about the craziest thing that had happened all day... the next thing she needed were flying pigs and a perfect dress from Clara to make this day any weirder!

_“Oh yes... send her whenever. I don't care just make sure whatever day it is she's here eight o'clock sharp.”_

The line went dead shortly after he had practically hissed the word sharp at her.

_“Such a charming man...”_ she murmured before stepping back into her classroom to break the news to Clara. _“I hope it's worth all of my time and effort talking to the moody arse.”_

_**A/N2: Okay so I have decided to take this prompt on but I like it and I don't want to rush it so what I am going to do is put it on a schedule to update it at least once a week :D I hope you enjoyed it and well I will see you at some point with the next chapter next week :) probably wednesday-friday how does that sound?** _


	2. Missing The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If he happens to talk to you, don't say anything stupid. He'll throw you out like a dodgy deep-fried mars bar from the Chippy around the corner.” Clara was really having trouble on her first day. Mark did nothing at all to help her. He actually made it ten times worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The second chapter is heeeere :) enjoy haha! Also I am using Edinburgh not even knowing if there is such a thing as fashion and design but hey shrugs its fanfic isn't it ;) (very little swearing in this chapter but thought I would mention ;))  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any recognisable characters! Any random people you have never seen or heard of before are mine… Twelve and Clara obviously belong to the BBC and anyone else that you recognise from Doctor Who and such of the like :)

_“I don't even know why I still work for him!”_ muttered Mark, a man she had met on her way into the studio this morning. He'd been called into John's office for a chat about how Clara had been getting on. He'd tried to lie, because quite frankly she couldn't even thread the needle. Mark had sensed that John was unhappy about the whole situation with Clara Oswald and he had made that very clear seeing as he hadn't even greeted the girl and hadn't even left his office all morning which in Mark's opinion was somewhat rude.

Clara glanced at him from her slightly slouched position on her chair, her brown eyes wide with a somewhat curious look lingering. She wondered what had happened in John's office that had wound up Mark. She turned her head away, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear which had come out of her ponytail and proceeded to fiddle with the small square piece of dark material on her desk, needle discarded to the left of her, frayed piece of thread lying next to it. Mark frowned as he looked over at her, pushing his glasses up as they'd slipped down his nose just a little bit. Despite her lack of hand eye co-ordination she certainly knew what to wear. She had eye for detail but in a different sense Mark had decided.

 _“What happened in there?”_ she asked quietly, laying the material on the desk, staring blankly at the messy line of stitches. She'd tried. She'd huffed slightly, pushing it away, her eyebrows furrowing as she turned to Mark who had a tight smile on his lips, huffing a laugh.

_“He is such a nob... honestly you're lucky he hasn't spoken to you.”_

_“I'm sure he's not that bad Mark. This job must put a lot of pressure and stress on him. On all of you for that matter. His clothing lines are everywhere and he's admired greatly in my class.”_

Mark's green eyes squinted into a glare behind his black rimmed glasses, a hand running through his hair from frustration. Clara broke the eye contact first, linking her fingers together nervously. She took a deep breath, her eyes almost glaring at the wooden door at the far end of the studio, the round glass window at the top, covered with some sort of curtain or even paper. She wondered why the famous John Smith hadn't even come out to meet her? Actually she wondered why he hadn't left his office at all?

Every person that worked for him seemed to disappear into his office, come out with a rather angry or sullen expression on their face and make a bee-line for the next victim who had to go into “Hell” next. She'd even started to wonder if she was ever going to see the man she admired, not that sitting with Mark was a bad thing but really she hadn't come here for Mark had she? Well she hadn't really come here for anyone, more experience but of course she would love to actually meet John. Mark leaned over from his desk and whispered,

_“If he happens to talk to you, don't say anything stupid. He'll throw you out like a dodgy deep-fried mars bar from the Chippy around the corner.”_

She turned her glare to Mark, who had promptly leaned back in his chair, resuming his sketching with a sort of twisted smile on his face. She bit her lip, swallowing down the rather sarcastic reply she was currently coming up with in her head. She settled for a roll of her eyes, picking up the reel of silver thread once more to try the specific stitching pattern again. Maybe it would pass the time and she could go back to her flat.

_*_

Clara checked her watch. Almost time to go. Her fingers felt sore and her eyes were itching from the tears that were forming in them. Hours and hours she'd spent perfecting these stitching patterns only to find that Mark had lied and just wanted to see how long she'd stitch them. She knew that she was the newbie but really she was already self-conscious in her abilities to create a good piece of clothing and she had really thought Mark was helping her improve. He had left half an hour ago (half past six in the evening) so she didn't feel so bad about mentally bashing the idiot. In between her meaningless stitching a woman called Mary had beckoned her over. She had thought it may have been something of importance... she only wanted a coffee.

So after the coffee/tea run she had pulled out her sketch book and perfected some of her drawings. Dresses she wished one day she could make without ruining with rubbish stitching and horrible cutting. Mark had successfully ignored her whilst she did this. She even caught him glancing at her work from the corner of her eye, yet she didn't have the energy to smile even a small smile. Then a second piece of dark material floated onto her desk and she'd looked over at Mark who'd smiled with a raised eyebrow, his hand gesturing at the material. That is when Jessica Walters came over. She looked to be in her early twenties, long red hair, pushed out of her face with a hair band. She was a tall woman dressed in a floral skirt just above the knee and a shirt that had far to many buttons undone for Clara's liking.

 _“Clara Oswald right?”_ she'd said with a kind enough smile. Clara just hoped that her's didn't look to strained. That wouldn't be acceptable so she nodded politely, her eyes falling back to her needle which once again lay next to a piece of frayed tread. She used the unused end of thread and tried again, fully aware the Jessica was looking at her, trying hard to hide the look of disgust that was appearing on her rather bony face.

_“Yes it is...”_

_“I just wanted to inform you that... he's not actually helping you. He did this to me a couple of years ago when I was just starting out. He likes a laugh... honestly though, you'll do just fine if you tell him where to go...”_

Clara was torn between smiling and being hugely embarrassed by the fact she'd been doing practically nothing for the entire day. Her first day she liked to add. She'd certainly keep it in mind to tell Mister Mark Anderson where to shove it next time he tries to help her out!

She checked her watch again, seven o'clock. She sighed heavily, a tired smile on her lips, the tears that had been threatening to fall had been blinked away as she neatly folded away her badly stitched squares of material, stuffing them in her bag. She'd just reached the door, soon after packing away all of her things to grab her coat when she heard her name being called. She turned to see Mary standing by the door of John's office. She was waving her pale hands as if to get her to come over. Clara wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. Really she just wanted to go home, but she made her way through the emptying studio towards Mary who smiled warily.

_“Mr Smith would like to speak with you.”_

_“Right.”_ mumbled Clara as Mary scurried away, grabbing her things, leaving Clara standing alone in the silence as the studio door swung shut behind her. She sighed heavily, flattening down her red tartan pleated skirt and fixing her black cardigan, pushing her bag behind her so it was resting on the small of her back as she stepped over the threshold, peering into his office. It seemed he was busy sketching away. Maybe she should knock? She raised her hand as to knock when his eyes looked up briefly, peering over his glasses.

_“You... you wanted to speak with me Mr Smith?”_

_“Yes.”_ he started sitting up straight in his leather chair, resting his pencil on his cluttered desk. He pulled his glasses off, closing them and placing them apon a book, leaning on his elbows, fingers linked together. _“How did you get on?”_

She looked up in disbelief. Her eyes meeting his as he raised an eyebrow, his hands hiding the slight smirk that had appeared much against his will. Clara furrowed her eyebrows tugging nervously on the hem of her cardigan. Was he seriously joking or something? Was she supposed to laugh or something? Tell him ridiculously funny she found it?

 _“Is this some kind of joke? I-is this supposed to be funny Mr Smith? Make fun of the student because she can't do anything right?”_ she covered her mouth instantly. Her heart stopped and the world around her seemed to run in slow motion. He'd lowered his hands, his lips in a thin line, long fingers splayed over the top of his desk. His eyebrows furrowed, his blue eyes narrowing. _**Well done Oswald... fuck up on your first day...** “I'm... I'm sorry I-I didn't mean-” _

_“Is that what you think happened?”_ he stated, pushing himself to his feet. Clara just stood completely still, her eyes wide never breaking eye contact with John. She swallowed thickly as he stepped round his desk, leaning against it heavily, arms crossed over his chest, one knee bent the other out straight. _“Is that why you think I even accepted you here?”_

She looked him over, trying to figure out if he was being completely sincere, or if he was just very good at lying through his teeth. Her eyes looked him up and down, arms folding over her chest nervously. Black dress shoes, some rather nice tight fitting black trousers and an open collared navy shirt. His greying hair was a mess of curls and... she averted her eyes completely, clearing her throat.

_“I'm not quite sure. You're staff seemed to enjoy making fun of me. Playing me like some clueless idiot! If that's all you wanted to talk about Mr Smith, then I think I should be heading home. I might be able to prepare myself for another day of piss taking with a bit of luck.”_

John stared. His lips formed a smirk. He tilted his head just a little bit to the right. She could stand up for herself when she needed to. He liked that, but he'd really have to work hard with her. He had been right to decline the first time. Mark, Jessica and Mary were the choice few he'd care name that brought up her quite frankly awful stitching and horrid hand eye co-ordination when it came to threading the needle. She'd always miss the eye... he couldn't afford that.

_“Actually no that isn't all I wanted to talk to you about Clara Oswald.”_

Her lips twitched into a brief smile. Her name rolled of his tongue and my she quite liked that. He pushed off of his desk and strode towards her, hands together and his eyes trained on his shoes. She fidgeted, her heels clacking on the wooden floor boards as she moved her feet. She took a deep breath as he stopped just a few feet in front of her. She met his gaze and he smiled just briefly before it disappeared again. She exhaled and hoped her heart would stop skipping beats. Her hands twitched slightly as he began to talk again.

_**She liked the accent. Strong on certain words and those 'R's.** _

_“Jessica has offered to take you under her wing.”_

Clara smiled. She hoped it didn't look to false in front of John. That would be something embarrassing and she'd have enough of that today. She nodded slightly and John nodded back before turning on his heel and striding off back to his desk.

_“Okay so... when is this happening?”_

_“Tomorrow. She said that Mark was messing you around. He's a fuckin' twat so that's why she suggested the change. This was the actual reason I wanted to speak with you. The first question was to see whether or not you could actually hold your own. I think that went quite well for now. Enjoy your evening Clara.”_

She made her way to the door, her heart hammering in her chest. She bit her lip as she stopped at the door, her brown eyes taking on last look at John who smiled slightly before carrying on with his sketching, glasses back on and concentration written all over his face. She made a quick exit, pulling his office door closed behind her, leaning heavily against it, hand still on the handle. She closed her eyes briefly. She made a quick mental note; _**Do not stare for longer than appropriate...** _ before promptly leaving the studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised :) So the next chapter will be up (fingers crossed) next friday, but I am not going to promise because I am going to see my dad! I hope you liked! This is un-beta'ed so if you see any mistakes don't hesitate to back me about with them *laughs* anyway I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave comments and kudos it will encourage me to write more!


	3. A Week With Jessica Walters (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week with Jessica Walters was the first thing that went tits up for her. She thought her week wouldn't get any worse, until she happens to get stuck in a packed walk in wardrobe with John. Honestly she is starting to regret her eagerness to work for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Right chapter three! Now hopefully this will actually get finished and posted between Thursday and Friday of this week well internet depending! Also I have finished my other AU What Kind of Man so thank goodness for that :) No this chapter is priority along with any small things I happen to get done :)   
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any recognisable characters! Any random people you have never seen or heard of before are mine… Twelve and Clara obviously belong to the BBC and anyone else that you recognise from Doctor Who and such of the like :)   
> (Warnings: Swearing, Awkwardness and the usual.)

Clara was in a rut. This week under the watchful eyes of Jessica had gone tits up. She'd spilt coffee over Mark's most recent sketches for a beautiful summer dress. She had to bite back a smile and felt a somewhat triumphant feeling as she gave the rest of her collogues their morning coffees. She'd tripped over the table that had the sewing machine apon it, completely ruining Mary's work. Gosh the poor woman looked like she was going to cry and leg it out of the building. She had tried to apologise, really she did feel bad. She hadn't meant to trip she just hadn't been looking where she was going.

_**Yes that was it...** _

Then she sat and watched Jessica stitch and tried to copy her. Her fingers were now covered in numerous plasters with rainbows on them thanks to stabbing herself silly, yet she carried on, pushing through her pain to try and perfect something she had never been very good at. By the end of the day she had run out of places on her hands and fingers to stab with a needle she hadn't even threaded for herself.

Over the next couple of days she'd gone through three reels of thread; silver in colour for the lighter coloured material and that was only trying to thread the needles. She had given up after each reel ran out and decided just to carry on with her sketches for clothing that one day could actually be more than a few smudgy dark lines on a dirty piece of paper in her sketch pad.

Today however she had had a reasonably accident-free morning. She'd managed to finally thread one needle and perform a rather mediocre stitch on a skirt hem that Jessica would be presenting to John. She was certainly preparing herself for his wrath... she had seen him shouting at Mary. Clara had to admit... she felt much more awful about tripping over the table with the sewing machine after that.

She was unbelievably accident prone.

* * *

_“You didn't did you?”_

_“What? I-”_

_“You didn't just shut that fuckin' door did you?”_

She looked at John with a look of disbelief. She was sure that's what a door was there for? To be opened, closed and to block noise and people from view... she didn't quite understand why John was getting so angry with her about her closing the door? She frowned when he scowled at her, coming out from behind a railing filled with jeans of all makes and sizes. She swallowed, taking in a deep breath when she met his gaze.

_“What did you expect me to do? I thought this was the room that held the materials! Why are you getting so angry about me shutting the door?”_

_“Because the fuckin' door is dodgy-”_

_“And how Mr Smith should I have known that your door was dodgy?”_

The glare the two shared was nothing fierce. She pushed back that feeling of satisfaction when realisation started setting on his face, the sparkle in his eyes began to whittle out. He titled his head just to the right, his eyes narrowing. She felt her heart thump in her chest just at the look on his face. The anger had disappeared from his eyes, replaced by a silent sadness as he looked at his feet, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. Her stomach knotted tightly. He looked so _insecure_ and that actually scared her.

_“I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come in here. I guess I just wanted to prove I could find my way around.”_ she said quietly, breaking the tense silence. Her cheeks heated when he raised his eyes just a little, a small smile appearing on his lips, but he never moved.

_“Yes I don't think that went completely to plan.”_

_“No. No it didn't. I guess I'm not quite cut out for this.”_

He raised his head fully now, his eyebrows pulling together in thought. She looked away with a small smile, a blush creeping into her cheeks as his blue eyes seemed to look her over. Clara chose to ignore him – with great difficulty mind you – her brown eyes looking over a lovely looking thigh length blue sequinned dress. She admired the patterns the sequins ran in and the one strap and the slant of the chest.

_“I wouldn't say that. Not everything in a fashion industry revolves around making clothing... people have to wear them too.”_ he murmured, clearing his throat quickly after speaking as Clara turned around slowly. Her hands fell to her sides and her eyes were wide.

_“And by that you mean?”_

_“By that I mean maybe you'd be better suited to...”_ he turned away from her stare, his fingers playing with the silk material of a white strapless top. Clara felt her stomach knot tighter than before, her heart rate increasing as she awaited for him to finish his sentence. This wasn't something she'd anticipated happening. She really needed something to help her navigate herself to avoid awkward situations such as this.

_**A Sat-nav maybe?** _

_**A compass?** _

She'd have to think of something. Time was certainly of the essence on that problem but first she'd have to figure out how to get out of this damn wardrobe... thing. John sighed, turning slightly, looking at her from the corner of his eye. _“modelling clothes... at least you'd still have your hands in one piece.”_

_“Well... I wasn't quite expecting you to say that Mr Smith.”_

A smirk graced his lips, as he turned his head, looking over his shoulder at her. _**He shouldn't be allowed to do that...**_ she thought.

_**“Well I must say... I'm full of surprises Miss Oswald.”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter which is VERY late which I apologise for AGAIN! I hope you enjoy it and such and forgive me for being a week late! :)


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